


Where I Sleep

by Ellie5192



Category: Major Crimes (TV)
Genre: F/M, I just couldn't find the right bit to express everything, flangst, not nearly as floopy as that summary seems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-26 04:58:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3837949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellie5192/pseuds/Ellie5192
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"... every time Jack comes back into their lives – even just for the day, even just for an hour – he finds a new way to break her heart a little piece at a time, and there is nothing Andy wants more than to protect her."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where I Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by my uncontrollable spiral into the A Softer Crime graphics I was making, and the fact they inevitably turned into a Sad Marriage series for the Raydors. And then I listened to Shania Twain for the first time in years, and she’s got a way it seems, she gives me faith to find my dreams. (And then I watched the new QANTAS Feels Like Home ad and got the feelz. Man, there are a lot of inspirations for this fic). And DuppyD on twitter gives me everything else (including the double vanity in the bathroom: https://twitter.com/Duppyd/status/455724402131210240/photo/1).  
> So you get marriage angst and Shandy fluff all in the same fic. My own special brand of flangst. Enjoy.

**Where I Sleep**

The first time Jack came back – the first time since this started, and there was more than just the divorce papers between the two of them and Andy had more than just a passing interest in the outcome – Andy had worried himself into such a state that his doctor had recorded a spike in his blood pressure for the first time in months. He wasn’t so much worried that she would go running back to Jack; he’s possessive, yes, and jealous sometimes, but he trusts Sharon explicitly, and knows she loves him (for whatever reasons she can live with, which is just fine by him and he’s not going to question whatever faulty logic lets him sleep next to her in bed at night).

That, aside from the fact she would never go back to Jack, and the man buried any chance of that long before she and Andy fell in love. Jack dug his own grave years ago, back when she needed to spend thousands of dollars on lawyers to make sure he couldn’t go after the meagre thousands she had left; back when he disappeared for two months, and another four after that, and fell off the wagon in front of the terrified children for the last unbearable time.

No, Sharon closed that door long ago. The fact that Jack looked set to repeat those same habits with her newest son was all the confirmation she needed to send him the papers.  

But he worries, because every time Jack comes back into their lives – even just for the day, even just for an hour – he finds a new way to break her heart a little piece at a time, and there is nothing Andy wants more than to protect her. Gender equality be damned (she can berate him for his misogyny later, preaching about her independence and strength as he humbly agrees with all that), but he wants to shelter her from Jack and then do that man some damage. He wants him to suffer. The way she suffered. And then a little more.

Logically he knows it is very caveman of him to think that way. And on some level he can identify an amount of internalised guilt – he and Jack; two sides of the same coin, and it’s not as though Andy has managed to mend all his burned bridges either. His daughter has opened up to him, but his son and his ex-wife still hold to their anger, and he can’t even blame them for that. It’s the same anger he wishes Sharon would show more of to Jack (so how can he ask one to let it go and one to have it more and still maintain the integrity he worked so hard to earn? No, there is a reason he has to bite his tongue and turn the other cheek).

But despite it (or perhaps because of it, because after all, he has insider knowledge of Jack’s struggles) he wants to drop-kick the guy through the window every time he shows up, and then when the anger abates he wants to immediately take Sharon home and show her all the ways he wishes she had been loved by the person who was supposed to protect her heart. She tells him she is fine now, that it’s all okay now, and he believes her. But he still cooks her favourite meal and watches her favourite movie and gives her a foot-rub and then makes slow love to her, just to make sure that if she wasn’t okay before… well… he just wants to make sure.  

So when Jack shows up in their murder room for completely legitimate legal business, Andy chances a look at her office. Too late to change Jack’s path, but she meets his eyes through the blinds and smiles just a little. It’s not very reassuring, but at least he knows she’s prepared, and now she knows he has her back. (He always has her back; he promised her before all this started that their many months and years of friendship would not die if it turned out they were better as friends.

Of course, at the time they were both so irrevocably in love with each other and so use to each other’s intimate company that sleeping together hardly made a difference at all. But it had seemed important to reassure her all the same).

The conversation lasts about as long as it takes for her to refuse the plea deal he offers and show him the door. And as Andy watches – because he can’t not, because he is drawn to watching the way they are together now, as if it is going to tell him anything about the young woman who gave up her potential future for their life together – he can see no trace of that history left in her. In Jack, yes, his body language screams unprofessional familiarity and hopeful flirting, as though his charms still have any effect on her. But Sharon speaks to him like he’s just another irritating lawyer coming to bargain a guilty client out of maximum penalty.

Andy smiles when Jack walks out of the office a few short minutes later, aggravation evident in his gait and a frown on his face.

He chances another look into her office. She is already looking at him, anticipating – she looks partly annoyed, as she always does when defence counsel come looking for an easy ride. But there is something else written on her face and shining in her eyes, and he can see it clearly, even from this far away and through a window. It screams of an inner triumph and a personal victory, and maybe he wasn’t the only one worried about the inevitability of Jack showing up again.

He thinks it might be pride.

He smiles at her and she smiles back. (Would it be pretentious of him to say he’s proud of her too? Would it belittle her agency to let her know that, every time she sends Jack packing, his own heart leaps for joy and he marvels at the strength she must possess? It scares him how much _better_ she is than he; can he ever live up to that?).

They finish out the rest of the work day with complete professionalism and are ever-discrete when they leave the building at the same time. Not that anybody notices or cares; they all know, whether by design or because they’re not idiots it doesn’t matter. They all know, and are mostly fine with it.

In the grand scheme of their day, Jack’s visit is barely a blip – they chased a killer through downtown streets today, and managed to tie him to a larger crime syndicate, roping Agent Howard in to take over the paperwork. All things considered, it was a very long and busy day, and Jack trying to make a deal for an unrelated witness was hardly a concern.

But his presence in town is troubling. He has been around for a few months now, and though he seems to have his drinking under control, he is also a master manipulator. Andy almost wishes he would just take off back to Vegas and stay out of their lives. Not that he’s particularly bothersome – with little cajoling Sharon changed the locks and they haven’t seen him at all except the rare encounter at work. But still. It’s the principle of it, which Andy can add to the list of petty reasons Sharon should kick his ass, but that’s just a fact of life these days.

She sighs as they walk through the front door, exhaustion evident; Andy remembers again just how full this day has been, and he hangs his head as weariness overcomes him. She takes her shoes off right there at the sideboard and puts on her uggs, and he smiles at it, the look of her in her professional suit and nice skirt and black uggs.

“Long day?” asks Rusty from his place on the couch. (The little freeloader refuses to move out until he graduates college. Andy almost wants to care, but the three of them have found a fantastic groove living together, so really he’s just happy to have people to come home to at the end of the day.)

Sharon makes a huff – not quite amused, but more like ‘you have no idea’ – as she moves towards the kitchen, running a hand through her hair. Andy shucks out of his jacket and hangs it up, nodding at Rusty to confirm it. “Long day”

He figures it’s up to Sharon whether she mentions the meeting with Jack, but as they go through the motions – grabbing some of the stir-fry Rusty made and left on the stove for them, settling on the couch, and hearing about Rusty’s day at college – it becomes evident that Sharon has no intention of bringing it up. Andy can see it’s on her mind, because there’s something not quite settled in her, but it’s not his place to say anything. There are a lot of things he keeps bottled up where Jack Raydor is concerned, the very mention of his name in conversation just one of them.

It’s relatively early when they go to bed – Rusty is still settled on the couch, watching something on television with his laptop open on his lap and texting on his phone, and Andy will never quite understand the ability of that generation to juggle them all. But they leave him be, confident he will quietly take himself off to bed at a reasonable time without disturbing them.

Sharon is already in the bathroom when he enters the room, and she emerges a moment later, her face washed and hair brushed. As he closes the bedroom door, she starts unbuttoning her shirt with great concentration, and he does the same. He fishes their night clothes from behind their pillows and tosses hers to her side of the bed where she’s standing. With little fuss they get in their pyjamas – hers a silky two piece set; his matching tee shirt and pants set that she bought him (something about her getting sick of the same old boxers? But that’s neither here nor there).

He follows her to the bathroom, and they stand at the double vanity side-by-side as they brush their teeth. Looking at her in the mirror, she looks drawn, and the skin at her eyes is taught. He can’t tell if she’s just tired from the long day or if there’s something on her mind, but when she meets his eye in the mirror reflection she gives him half a grin around her toothbrush. He nudges her with his shoulder in return.

He goes back into the bedroom ahead of her and starts taking the extra pillows off the bed. She walks out and flicks her favourite pillow to lay flat, and then quite suddenly huffs, dropping her arms at her side and then changing her mind and folding them instead. She stands at the side of the bed, one hip jutted out and a frown on her face, and he eases into bed slowly, watching her. Honestly, he thinks she looks a little bit adorable, but he knows the cause of her angst, and so just pats her side of the bed to snap her out of it.

“You want to know what really annoys me about today?” she asks, and despite her tone she gently pulls back the covers on her side and slides in next to him. She lays flat on her back, resting her arms over her stomach, and he settles further into the bedding and puts his head on his hand, his elbow buried in the pillow, watching her.

“What?” he prompts. He knows that they’re not talking about the case, but he figures they were bound to have this conversation eventually, so he’s somewhat prepared.

“I didn’t feel anything” she says.

He furrows his brow in confusion. She turns her head on the pillow to look at him, and in an instant her indignation gives way to something softer; something far more vulnerable.

“He walked out of my office – made some comment about the massive stick up my ass” she adds, rolling her eyes. “And I didn’t feel a goddamn thing”

He’s not sure what to make of that. He feels a lot of things towards his ex-wife, but apathy is not one of them. And he holds a lot of emotions close to the vest, true, and maybe of them volatile, but under her armour Sharon is one of the most feeling people he knows. It’s not like her to go unaffected by a situation.

“Is that wrong?” she asks.

He can’t help himself; he barks out a laugh and shakes his head, and when she looks like she’s going to implore him he goes quiet and kisses her with a smile, just to reassure her.

“Are you asking me to find you a fuck to give about your ex-husband?” he asks, a grin on his face as he pulls away from her again.

“No” she drawls. Her voice sounds exasperated at him, but then again, half the reason this whole thing works is because he keeps her on her toes. “I’m just saying”, she continues, “Jack and I have been a lot of things to each other over the years. But I never expected to feel _nothing_ ”

“Be thankful, I say” he says, flopping onto his back next to her. “Better than feeling all the bad stuff”

She sighs, not disagreeing with him, and hums as she looks back at the ceiling. She knows what he’s saying. But her own reaction takes her by surprise. How many times has she soldiered on, trying not to take Jack’s nastiness to heart; trying to find her worth in places other than her marriage, and succeeding for the most part? (How many nights did she cry because it was all just so goddamn hard and nobody ever told her marriage would be like this; too many, if she’s honest). As if sensing her confusion, Andy reaches over and takes her hand, twining their fingers together on the bedding between them. Whatever Jack is or is not in her life, they, at least, are solid.

“I look at him now and I feel nothing” she says softly, her eyes unfocussed on the ceiling above her. “Not love, not hate. I don’t even feel sorry for him anymore”

“You think you should?” he asks. “Feel sorry for him?” He certainly doesn’t think so, but then it’s not his life to judge. And at the end of the day, he’s not laying beside her because she feels sorry for him. (At least he hopes not. If he is, that’s definitely a conversation they should be having some time soon.

Just not today. He’s too tired today. Too comfortable next to her.)

“I know I used to. And not just for him, but for the way he missed out on so much. I used to pity him - his shortcomings cost him a decent relationship with our children”

“What about a decent relationship with you?” he asks, and she can feel the bite underneath; the way he feels slighted on her behalf. (Not that he can change what happened, or would presume to fix it if he could; it was her life to live, and they were her mistakes to make). After all, this relationship they have now is only possible because of the actions that came before it; they are only compatible because of the lessons their lives have taught them. They don’t bother playing what-if and if-only; thirty years ago they wouldn’t have been right for each other anyway. But that doesn’t mean Andy is okay with the treatment she endured.

“Oh, well, yes – of course, me too” she says, almost dismissive. “But I was more _hurt,_ and then for so long I was _angry_. Now I’m just-”

She doesn’t finish her sentence, but she doesn’t have to. Instead she takes a deep breath and lets it out, shaking her head. He turns his head to look at her in profile, her lips pressing together as she thinks it through. He can see that she’s troubled by her lack of reaction, as though it’s proof of some kind of shortcoming that she doesn’t want to own.

But he can see that it’s not that at all. Time doesn’t always heal wounds but experience can dull the pain of them, and for himself at least, he feels less guilt about his actions because she is by his side. His present happiness helps reconcile the mistakes of his past. He can have a relationship with his daughter and his grandchildren because she encourages him to reach out and take it. (He likes to think he encourages her in some ways too, but he’s yet to identify just how, so for now he lives in hope).

“Sharon” he says, whisper-soft. She turns her head, mere inches between them. “You are not obligated to feel remorse on his behalf”

In a blink her eyes are shining, her lips pursed with emotion, half smiling at him as her gaze flits over his face. She turns on her side and leans in to kiss him, his hand squeezed tight in hers between them.

“I do know that” she whispers as she pulls back an inch. “But thank you for saying it”  

She settles back on the edge of her pillow, lying on her side to face him. He smiles at her.

“You don’t think I should worry about it” she says, not really asking the question. And logically she knows he’s right. The only role Jack plays in her life anymore is that of the father of her children, and even then he doesn’t play it well. And her life with Andy, and her career; they have been stronger and better in recent years. She is where she wants to be. Perhaps it really doesn’t matter that she has moved on from Jack’s emotional hold on her.

Perhaps it’s a long time overdue.

“I think it’s been a long day” he says in answer to her non-question, turning off his lamp and shuffling into a more comfortable position. He doesn’t let go of her hand, though, and she grins to herself because for all his efforts to remain unaffected, he really is just as invested as she is. (Truthfully she thinks he might be more; sometimes she catches the way he looks at her, and it never fails to shock her.)

She rolls backwards to reach over and turn off her own lamp, the room suddenly dark, and then rolls back into position beside him, as close as she can be while remaining on her pillow. For all they love snuggling, they like their own space more. But that’s okay. It’s just one more thing life has taught them; never compromise good sleep.

She sighs as she shifts, her body relaxing and settling, and she hears the rustle of the sheets as Andy turns his head towards her. He can’t really see her – the blackout curtains in her room (their room now, it’s their room, but the décor hasn’t changed and she made space for him to fit, in the wardrobe and in the draws and on the bathroom vanity, so really it’s hers) allow for very little shadow. He can make out the shape of her hair against the light coloured pillowcase and that’s all. But she hums in the dark, acknowledging him, and he smiles. Her hand it is still tucked in his; he brings it to his lips and kisses her knuckles, and thinks it’s crazy that anyone would risk losing this.

“I love you” he whispers, meaningful and pointed, and she can hear what he’s trying to say. What he wants to say, but won’t, because it sounds conceited, even to his own ears. (I love you the right way; I love you the way you deserve, or at least I try to; I love you in the way that doesn’t try to hurt you. I love you better than he did.)

And she smiles, because maybe it’s not fair – how do you quantify such a thing, and she knows Jack was just incapable, and that sometimes it’s not sufficient to make you crawl out of the bottle or leave the casino or just stop lying to cover up other lies. Sometimes it’s not the incentive it should be to unlearn bad habits. Sometimes it’s not enough. But she can hear what he’s saying anyway, and she appreciates it, because for all his faults, Andy tries, and he admits his mistakes, and he doesn’t hurt her the way Jack did. (Andy does love her better, and maybe it’s not _more_ , but it’s _more right_ , and that’s what matters the most).

“I love you” she whispers back, clenching his fingers tightly one more time before letting go and resting her hand comfortably by her pillow.

He listens as her breath evens out, feels her leg twitch once as the muscles relax for the night. He counts his heartbeats, still strong and healthy, and thinks about his own feelings on the matter. She may not be angry, but he will be angry for her (or at least indignant, because punching a man _just because_ is not acceptable, he knows, much as he may want to). He cannot let it go so easy, but then he figures, he should learn to; after all, look at where he’s sleeping; look at who he’s lying next to.

She sighs in her sleep and he smiles at the sound, and tries to feel some humility about the outcome for them all.

It doesn’t work. (But he thinks she would be proud that he’s trying anyway).


End file.
